The stars were the angels' prison, and also the demons' grave. As an unprecedented feast began, the greediest monsters in this world tore off their courteous facades and raised the most savage butcher knives against one another.
No matter how long they had lived, how high their achievements, how vast their dreams, so-called Spellcasters were creatures vile down to their very roots.
Because they were lowly, because they were weak, they were insatiably greedy, and so they stole authority. But if they did not divide up the greatest corpse, how could ants glimpse the supreme view? If they did not tear away the mask of benevolence and morality, how could the weak taste what it meant to be strong?
It was precisely because they knew they represented neither justice nor goodness that they called themselves demons. They knew better than anyone that the Source Angel was the balancer of the world, knew better than anyone what tremendous upheaval the Source Angel's fall would cause, and had even received more grace from the Source Angel than anyone else—whenever the Source Angel released even a little goodwill toward the world, they, standing at the highest level, always benefited the most, before it was diluted layer by layer downward.
But ever since they had learned of the Source Angel's existence, the killing intent in their hearts had never wavered.
Was immortality enough? Was ruling the earth enough? Was governing Heaven enough?
Never! Enough! Never!
"Sigh..."
A bloody hole opened in Yami's chest. In the instant he lost focus, his two eyeballs shattered like glass beads, while his left hand, left leg, and right leg were torn apart as well. Blood burst from his body in multiple sprays, and he fell toward the earth like a broken doll. Demons never minded kicking someone while